


Sight

by FreckledSkittles



Series: The Five Senses [2]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: ADA Carisi, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Flashbacks, Hospitals, Implied Sexual Content, Lawyer Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr., M/M, Making Out, Minor Injuries, Rivalry, how could i forget - Freeform, i tried to find an er visit tag but all the doctor ones were from doctor who lmao, not yet but were getting there, one of my fave tags tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22866301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreckledSkittles/pseuds/FreckledSkittles
Summary: “Do you believe in alternate universes?”“Do you?”
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Series: The Five Senses [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632616
Comments: 10
Kudos: 56
Collections: Barisi Valentine Prompt Challenge 2020





	Sight

**Author's Note:**

> It's that time again, that's right, the "I have other things to write and I can't choose which one to focus on so let's do all of them" challenge
> 
> I forgot to mention that since these are in the collection for the Barisi Valentine's event, I used two prompts to write this story! "First date" (which, as you can guess from the tag, is not part of this story) and "ER visit for something that turns out to be nothing" (which, I mean, sure, I guess I did it?). I had an absolute blast writing this, even if I had to procrastinate on my other projects to get it done, but that's the price you pay for beauty am I right haha please don't unfollow me
> 
> Anyway I hope you enjoy this and I look forward to finishing this series! Since we only have five senses as human beings, there are only three more to go, so let's make it a good ride!

Sonny Carisi’s first day on the job, and he’s received three handshakes for being a Fordham Law alum, five curious glances from conversations he is not involved in but that are definitely centered around him, and only two snide comments about his previous experience in law enforcement. With his track record, he was satisfied it was nothing more than that. He expected much worse to happen, something that rejected his previous years in law school and the passing bar score he earned like everyone else in the room. He wasn’t someone who bragged about his accomplishments, but there was something extraordinary about going to law school and holding a full-time job as an NYPD detective.

During his first meeting with the Bureau Chief and the other ADAs, he is given a brief introduction to his fellow prosecutors. A few of them come up to him after the meeting to shake his hand properly. Only one person is introduced to him without their own prompting, and only because he walks up to the Bureau Chief while the other man is still with him.

“ADA Carisi, this is ADA Rafael Barba,” Bureau Chief Cutter says, gesturing between them. Barba takes Sonny’s hand and shakes it once with a firm nod. Sonny can’t help but perk up at the familiar name. To say he had been looking forward to meeting him, out of any of the ADAs he had heard of, was an understatement.

“Oh, wow, I’ve followed your cases since you came to Manhattan,” he gushes, hoping his smiling isn’t taken as a suck-up trying to have a chat. Barba barely manages to nod in response before Sonny continues. “I kept up with the Hoffa case as it was happening, and the way you handled that whole thing was absolute genius.”

Barba only nods in what can only be comprehension, judging by the indulgent raise of his brows. Seeing as his last stint with the NYPD had been with Manhattan Homicide, Sonny often heard the stories of the influence Barba had on Manhattan’s criminal justice system and his fearless approach to the cases that landed on his desk. According to the ADAs that handled the cases and allowed him to ask questions, Barba was the name they used with a mixture of scorn and jealousy. His sassy demeanor and abrasive attitude was only part of the gossip mill.

When Barba doesn’t answer, Sonny continues, scratching the back of his neck, unable to stop the growing shyness in his chest. “I was able to sit in a few days, and it was fascinating to watch you work from the gallery. You really have a way with words. I mean, your summation was incredible.”

The corners of Barba’s mouth curl into a wry smirk, “Which one? My first try ended with a mistrial.”

“Well, thank god we fight for the victims,” Cutter butts in. His attention lingers on someone standing at the doorway to the conference room and he gestures between them. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to meet with the DA in a few minutes.”

“Remind him I’ll have to meet about the Heeler case this week,” Barba states. “He wanted to be kept in the loop, considering the high-profile nature.”

Cutter nods and leaves with a pat to Sonny’s shoulder and a strained smile. The second he leaves, Barba turns back to the conference table and shuffles papers back into his briefcase. Sonny leans against the chair between them, promising himself one last attempt to get a bit more intel from him. “So, uh, you’ve dealt with a lot of officer-involved shootings.”

Barba glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “I have.”

“Is it ever easy? Or a better question would be, does it ever get easy?”

The Barba he had met just minutes before is not the same one who turns to him with a wary yet unimpressed scowl. “Cutter’s gone, Carisi. You can stop kissing ass now.”

Sonny reels back almost instantly. He knew what he was getting into in terms of attitude; Barba had a known reputation for being snippy by some and rude by others. And while he knew how to handle conversations that could be less than friendly, an attribute that was everything his personality was, there was a limit to how much backtalk one person could handle. Good thing he’s the only son surrounded by three sisters. “Ah. If I was, that would be good advice.”

“Either way, I have work, so this conversation will have to be done.”

“Maybe we can walk and talk?” Sonny follows him out of the conference room, able to keep up with the other man despite his quick strides.

“Oh, good,” Barba scoffs, “you can’t take a hint  _ and _ your legs are long.”

“I just wanna ask a couple questions. Maybe try and get my bearings, or at least see what I can do at arraignments when I start getting cases.”

Barba lets out a long sigh, stopping in the hallway and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can you actually walk and talk? I only have so much time.”

Sonny tries to cap off his eagerness, but he feels too energized to even try and bottle it up. “Sure! You won’t even realize it’s happening, that’s how fast I can go.”

“Good.” Barba looks him up and down, quick hazel darting over each inch of his body. “Hope you have your questions. I walk fast.” To prove it, he resumes walking down the hall with a quick stride to match. Sonny tries to mirror the speed, hoping his gangly legs can do some good.

“Alright, so, to repeat my first question, is it easy to prosecute cops?”

“Yes, their career doesn’t stop them from breaking the law. And,” he looks at Sonny with a pointed brow, “it doesn’t excuse them when they think they’re above it.”

Sonny nods in understanding. He figured as much but his curiosity of someone he’s read about and the cases he tried ran to his tongue first. He takes a brief second, a single squeeze of his fist around the handle of his briefcase, but Barba speaks up again.

“I hope that isn’t going to be a problem. Considering your extensive law enforcement background.”

Sonny ignores the last comment and shakes his head. “No, not at all. I’ve seen my fair share of corrupt cops. My problem isn’t with taking them down.”

“Kudos to you.” Barba stops at the elevator doors and presses the down button. “Then you don’t have anything else to worry about.”

“Well, I mean…” Sonny trails off, remembering the pain he saw on the faces of Terrance Reynolds’ parents, even through the television screen, and the face of his own brother-in-law after the abuse of power with his parole officer. When it had happened, it had taken everything in him to keep away from her office and not blow up on her for betraying the very oath they took as cops. Or even to run to the courthouse and witness the sentencing in solidarity with the Reynolds family. A year later, he still asked Bella for regular updates on Tommy’s healing, and he lights a candle every Mass for the Reynolds family. “I guess if there’s anything I’m worried about, it’s why they would be corrupt in the first place. I took the same oath they did to protect and serve. What was it that made them betray it?”

The sound that comes from Barba is unimpressed, and the look he throws at Sonny is a replica of the look his parents gave his teenage self in the face of his immaturity. “Stop thinking like a cop and you’ll find the answer. The people who commit crimes are against us when they enter a not-guilty plea. Everything else about them becomes obsolete.”

The elevator arrives and Barba steps in but Sonny holds a hand to stop the doors from shutting. He refuses to settle for an answer like that. Not on his first important day as a prosecutor. “What if they didn’t do it? What about the one case out of a hundred that is brought on by false accusations?”

“Then the cops should do a better job.” He checks his watch, sighing in a way that is clearly meant to be dismissive, and nods to the elevator doors. “Get in or let them close. I don’t have all day to debate this with you.”

Sonny finally steps in, frowning but hoping to understand more of this man’s ideology. His legal mind is nothing short of brilliant, spinning arguments and wins from seemingly nothing. Just to share a job title with him was an immense honor, more than it was to work under a man like Mike Cutter. He can’t stop here. “But sometimes the cops don’t get it right. Sometimes, the evidence gets messy. I should know, I—”

“Yes, you were a cop,” Barba sighs again. He’s done it a lot since they started walking. Sonny can’t tell if it’s an impulse that happens to everyone he talks to or real exhaustion from the conversation. “Emphasis on the ‘were,’ I hope.”

“Isn’t that why I’m here?” Sonny frowns. “I gave up my gun and shield for a reason.”

“And I’m sure it was nothing short of noble, but as a prosecutor, your cases should already be ready for you. You have the evidence for the case, so put it together and get a conviction for the victims. Your prep for trial shouldn’t be centered on piecing it together for prosecution.”

It only takes Sonny a few seconds to recognize the irritation, but once he does, he has no choice but to accept the hint. Even if he would have preferred Barba just reject him from the start than drag him on, that isn’t their situation. So he just watches the numbers on the floor pass by as the elevator brings them down. But the brief silence is shattered by Barba, who turns to look at him once more and hums.

“That’s all it took? If I had known that, I would have used it sooner.”

Sonny sends him a glower out of the corner of his eye. “If you didn’t want to talk in the first place, you could have said so.”

“I gave you the benefit of the doubt, but your answers proved I shouldn’t have.”

Anger flares in the center of Sonny’s chest. It’s barely been ten minutes since he was introduced to this man, someone he knew of and had been a frequent name that he looked up after he took on Tommy’s case, but this was just plain rude. “So I deserve to be treated like some annoying kid?”

Barba doesn’t even flinch, just pulls his phone out and pages through notifications. “Your words, not mine.”

“I can catch a hint.” The elevators stop, but Sonny throws a hand up and stops Barba from walking out. The shorter man glares at him, sharp and threatening, but Sonny stands his ground. Those years with three sisters, loud personalities, and big attitudes really were paying off. “And next time, you can cut me off before I make a fool out of myself.”

For the next week or so after that, the sight or image of Rafael Barba made Sonny’s toes curl. He limited the times they were near each other or alone. And each time, Sonny told himself it was out of respect for Barba, not the bout of disappointment that he was wrong about him.

Eight months after meeting him, three after grabbing him and touching every inch of his body while their tongues tangled together, Sonny isn’t sure which one it is. 

* * *

Rafael rushes to the courtroom elevator before it leaves without him and is surprised to see Dominick Carisi, Jr. keeping the door open. It takes everything in Rafael to not look at the man’s lips or remember what they felt like or tasted.

“Thanks for the save,” Rafael says, zero bad intentions involved, but he can’t help the snark that leaves his tongue next. Carisi fuels his impulses more than anyone else at either of the DA offices he’s worked for. “Not all of us can have incredibly long legs.”

Carisi only snorts as the elevator doors slide closed. “Yeah, because that’s stopped you in the past.”

“As someone who has probably not found anyone to match his stride, I think you’re a bit biased.”

“Is that your opinion, Barba?”

“An observation.”

Carisi smirks. “Right. You get the paperwork I sent you about the Moor and Hayden case?”

“I did, thank you. Aside from the shitty handwriting, everything was in order.”

“ _ My _ handwriting’s shitty? Have you ever read yours?” To that, Rafael only quirks an eyebrow in disbelief. Carisi huffs under his breath and a poorly-restrained smile. “I asked Lieutenant Benson to help me figure it out, and she couldn't even get through it.”

“That,” Rafael jabs his shoulder, “is slander. Olivia’s just as biased.”

“I’ll remember that for next time. Should I ask the whole SVU squad to help me out, or are you just gonna admit defeat before then?”

Rafael scowls. “Both of those sound terrible.” The elevator doors open and they walk forward, Rafael easily matching Carisi’s gait with his speedy pace. “And even if my handwriting were terrible, it’s better than yours. Some may call it chicken scratch, but I think a damn ostrich wrote for you.” He pauses, looking Carisi up and down, lingering on his thighs and hips. “Or maybe a giraffe, given your height.”

Carisi chokes on a laugh and shoots him a surprised glance. “A giraffe. I don’t think I’ve heard that before.”

“Not to your face. You’re a giant of a man, Carisi.”

“Gee, thanks.” He starts to head into the courtroom he must be scheduled in, but he stops and turns back to him. Rafael stops to listen, more at the hope that he has something valuable to say and not because he wants to spend a few more minutes looking at him. “You hear about the case Delgado has?”

“The one with the pedophile wanting equal rights as a minority group?” When Carisi nods, Rafael scoffs in disgust. “Unfortunately. What about it?”

“We were talking about it the other day, looking into cases that other ADAs had handled that were similar. She was thinking of finding someone to co-counsel with to help her out since these are rare cases. Frustrating, but rare, and she’d rather have help than none at all.”

Rafael can’t help but smirk. “And you’re asking me to help her out?”

“What? No, I’m asking you if you know anyone with experience.” He rolls his shoulders and looks away, almost pointedly. “I’d do it, but the trial starts in two days, and I have a date tonight.”

“A date.” He maintains the same reaction and reins in the twist in his gut. “Well, lucky for us, I’m seeing her in a few minutes to talk about a case in Brooklyn. Maybe I’ll make the offer.”

Carisi rolls his eyes. “Alright, don’t preen over it too much, Barba. I only mentioned it because you were right here.”

“Mm, you can tell yourself that.” Rafael walks away with a wink over his shoulder, grinning impishly yet pleased, doubling at Carisi’s worn sigh. “I’ll remember that when I’m planning with Delgado.”

Rafael doesn’t end up taking the case. He never intended to; he knew saying he was would annoy Carisi, and it worked. He tipped off an ADA who had been around long before Rafael but had specialized in prosecuting those cases in Queens. And even if they hadn’t been interested or willing to help, Rafael would still refrain from stepping in. It felt too much like a slap and a kick to the man he had made out with three months ago.

It had been eight months since Carisi had become an ADA. The last three, Rafael had spent wondering about what their relationship could have been if he hadn’t been so curt with Carisi during their first conversation. And if they hadn’t maintained that same hostility or displeasure for the following months. And if they hadn’t doubled down on sparring with one another when that familiarity, that pattern, was threatened with change.

Rafael’s feelings for Carisi are complicated. He recognizes he is a skilled prosecutor, a dual-threat with a law enforcement background and a law degree to match his passing bar score. He’s quick on his feet, he’s bright, he’s passionate about his job and helping others. And to no surprise, he is far from perfect: always willing to provide insight, even if it isn’t requested; always brash in the way he talks and the way he moves; accent always thick and present and sharp, wrapped around words that any other accent can pronounce without trouble. If Rafael took the time to think about it, he would see they are more alike than he realizes. Aside from the Staten Island accent—because even the typical New York accent is not that abrasive—there is little difference to them.

But Rafael is blinded by those little things that irk him and the fact that their first time working together brought such a headache that he begged Cutter to never let them near each other’s workspace again. He’s more focused on the fact that Dominick Carisi, Jr. tried to get everyone to call him “Sonny” outside of work to “ease up on the formalities” than he is on the clear interest that spiked whenever he spoke at meetings or their paths crossed right when another ADA was complimenting (or, most commonly, complaining) about Rafael Barba’s reputation to his face.

Maybe he’s changed. Maybe eight months is how long it takes for a man to soften up at the mere thought of a man who can smile like the sun as easily as he can stand up and speak his mind having more silver in his hair than the Bureau Chief despite the age gap. Maybe Rafael is tired of the rage that fills him if Carisi steps over a line he wasn’t asked to cross in the first place. Or maybe he’s just losing his damn mind.

That would explain why, later in the afternoon, he fulfills his mother’s prophecy of walking while looking down at his phone and he bumps into a young woman on his way out of the courthouse.

“Hey, watch it!” The woman snaps, blue eyes flaring in offense and fury. Rafael is struck with an immense feeling of familiarity, of provoking a man taller and younger than him with pretty blue eyes. But he recognizes her as fast as she does, calming with a sag of her shoulders and a bright flash in her eyes. “Oh, Mister Barba, hey.”

“Bella,” he greets her, the name easily flying off his tongue. He had taken her husband’s case a year or so ago after a parole officer abused her position to gain power over her male parolees. The only reason why he remembered her was because of her abrasive personality. She had a strong spirit that scared a path for her as soon as she stepped into the courthouse. Rafael viewed her as he would any other like-minded individual, this time as a compliment to an otherwise loving woman who wanted her husband’s safety and justice. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, you’re telling me.” She adjusts the bag on her shoulder, and the movement is so mundane and simple, almost-second nature to her, but Rafael recognizes it from somewhere. “Last time I saw you, I was only two months along.”

“Right, how did it go? Hopefully, you and Tommy aren’t losing too much sleep?”

Bella grins, already pulling out her phone and moving to stand beside him. “What parent hasn’t?” Her lock screen is a beautiful photo of her baby, looking up at her and grinning wide, gums and all. “We named her after my grandmother, Rosalie.”

“She’s precious.” Normally, he wouldn’t compliment a baby’s picture to that extreme—they all looked the same to him, they were babies—but he couldn’t help himself. She already had a dimple in one cheek, and her eyes squinted in a way that could only come from pure, unfiltered happiness. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Tommy loves her.” She pockets her phone with a long sigh, like a woman in such despair to be separated from someone who makes the days brighter. The type of love Rafael always saw from afar, never up close, and never with an intimate partner. “He was doing great before, he went to therapy and he started to trust his new PO. And just when I thought he was doing great, the second Rosalie was born, it just…,” she waves her hands above her head, eyes wide and brimming with a tender fondness, “tripled. I don’t know how I could have found someone else.”

“It’s good to hear he’s doing well. Not a lot of people can go through what he did and still come out alright in the end. But he’s getting the help he needs. One can only hope it continues.”

“Part of it is thanks to you, you know,” Bella grins. “If we had had any other prosecutor, I don’t think it would have gone as well.”

Rafael raises an eyebrow, curiosity getting the better of him. “And how would you know that? Are you two that thankful for me winning Tommy’s case that the only way you could repay me is by tracking me like raptors?”

Bella laughs, a sound that replicates the ringing of bells, clear and light. “We may have snooped around my brother’s stuff to learn what we could about you. Obviously, we didn’t have a say in which lawyer we got, but it happened when Sonny was still in law school and he was looking up everything about Manhattan prosecutors. And he just so happened to have notes on the cases you had tried before.”

Sonny. It makes sense. Bella is Sonny’s—Carisi’s—sister. The family resemblance is definitely there, from the face shape to the eyes to the energy. No wonder interacting with her felt so familiar: aside from prosecuting a case with her husband—Sonny’s brother-in-law, of all people—she was the sibling to a man who had Rafael’s tongue down his throat three months ago.

Before he can react, verbally or physically, Bella sighs. The tone already sounds like that of an exasperated parent. “Speaking of, I need to get that dummy’s things.”

“You mean Carisi’s?” A dumb question, but Rafael is still trying to wrap his head around this discovery. He can be without words for a little while longer.

“Yeah, unfortunately. He had this date and he wanted to see what we thought before introducing him to the family, so he took us out for coffee with him, and out of nowhere, he just faints and hits his head.” Bella rolls her eyes, not taking notice of the looming fear that drops Rafael’s gut to his knees. “Asshole can’t take care of himself, but he has to make sure his sisters are taken care of and that Mom and Dad are okay, and, oh, are the kids okay, is anyone hungry, god. He’s more of a mamadelle than our own mother, I swear.”

Rafael blinks at the rush of words, all aimed at her brother but something that she needed to get off her chest, and all with an accent that gets sharper as she went on. It must be a Carisi family gene. He’s had that same sort of wrath targeted at him, thanks to their sour professional relationship. At least he didn’t make it personal—or use any strange Italian-English hybrid to describe him. “A…what?”

“A mamadelle, it’s basically a mom who just takes care of everybody, makes sure everyone is fed, sees if you need anything. It’s an Italian thing—but that’s not why I’m here!” Bella storms past him to head into the courthouse. Rafael scrambles to hold the door open and follow after her, fully accepting his attention is grabbed and he is stuck with her until he finds out what’s happening to Carisi. “I need to grab his things. Do you know where his office is?”

“It’s across the street. But, wait,” he steps in front of her, ignoring the disgruntled huff she gives, “where’s your brother? Is he alright?”

“We took him to the ER. He knocked his head on a chair—and, I mean, he’s stupidly tall, so of course it’s gonna be a bad fall.” Her expression switches from mild concern to clear irritation that radiates from her in waves. “His dumb date didn’t even stick around. Just dropped us off and left.”

Rafael wants to stop himself from making it his business to check on Carisi, or to keep track of his wellbeing at all, because he has no need for it. There’s nothing to gain from the reassurance except the easing of his guilt for taunting him earlier in the day. But this man has infected him with concern and a feeling he can only describe as caring. He’s invested in Dominick Carisi, Jr.—in Sonny Carisi—whether he wants to be or not. “Which hospital is he in?”

* * *

After they retrieve Sonny’s belongings from his office, under the strict guidance from the Carisi sibling that he won’t be returning to work, Bella explains the events of the afternoon while he’s driving them to the ER. Apparently, they had barely gotten finished with their double date and their drinks when Carisi stood up, told them he felt sick, and passed out. She was more concerned over the fact that he had smacked his head on a chair on his way down than his fainting, which is equally confusing and worrisome for Rafael. Carisi must faint often if she barely bats an eye when he loses consciousness in the middle of the day.

“We’re all proud of him,” Bella says, frowning while they wait for the elevator to take them to the street. Parking the car in the garage adjacent to the hospital had been an easier feat than he had thought. Luckily, there were plenty of spaces to choose from on the third floor. “Even though he’s a year older, he’s my baby brother. He’s Sonny. But we can’t help but worry, y’know? He’s so aware of everyone else, he forgets to take care of himself.”

“This job does that to you,” Rafael states. He had had the conversation with his mother before—she hardly ever criticized his workaholic character, since she was the one who had given it to him. But as a mother, not a principal, she reminded him to take time to feed himself at the very least and find some amount of time to sleep. ADAs didn’t always have that same privilege; he did what he could to have one fulfilling meal per day. He was lucky if his diet on any given day consisted of something other than pretzels and coffee.

“It’s different for Sonny. He’s always done that. He does it because he wants everyone else to be okay before he can think of checking on himself.”

Well. At least he was obvious about it. “He cares so much, he doesn’t have time to care for himself.”

Bella scoffs and eyes him knowingly as they step into the elevator. “Thanks for coming, by the way. I think Sonny will really appreciate it.”

Rafael hadn’t been planning on going up to the hospital room with her. He had his own cases to worry over, his own meals to avoid, his own body to ruin with the stress of work and a lack of self-care. But it was the least he could do for them. Plus, according to Bella’s story, the three of them had walked from Bella and Tommy’s apartment to the cafe for the coffee meet-up. They would all need rides back home.

Following instructions Bella had received from her husband, they make their way to the second floor at one of the beds parked right next to the nurse’s station. Even with the separation of the curtain, Rafael can hear the accent and familiar voices bickering from around the corner. Bella rolls her eyes as they walk up; at least he’s not the only one who struggles to get along with Dominick Carisi, Jr.

“It’s only another hour and they can let you go,” the person that must be Tommy insists from the other side of the curtain. “Just sit down, Sonny—”

“I’m fine, Tommy, I’m just stretching my legs!” Carisi—even without Tommy talking, there is  _ no _ mistaking that voice—snaps back.

“Cut it out, you already tried this! Bella’s gonna kick your ass if she sees you doing this.”

Before Carisi can protest any further, sputtering and clearly fighting his brother-in-law, Bella tugs the curtain back to glare at the two. Sure enough, to the accuracy of their voices, Carisi is trying to sit up and move his legs—Christ, they’re long—into a better sitting position. There are three band-aids on his forehead: one right above his eyebrow, another right above it, and one going diagonal, which covers parts of a blotch of red skin. Tommy is standing next to the bed in an effort to keep him still, or at least laying down, but still keeps his distance from the wild wave of his arms. When the curtain pulls back, both Tommy and Carisi turn to face them, but only Carisi seems shocked to see Rafael there, his eyes falling on him instantly.

“Barba?” He says with a furrow of his brows. “Why are you here?”

“I’m not banned from hospitals,” Rafael smirks, unable to resist disrupting the waters, even now. “Last I checked, it was acceptable to visit coworkers when they end up in the hospital.”

Carisi scoffs and side-eyes his sister. “Christ, Bella, I’m not dying. Just dehydrated.”

Bella surges forward to grab his hand tightly between hers. “Sonny, if this happened to me or one of our sisters, you’d be pissed,” she states, her tone firm and her eyes flaring with anger. Carisi, for what it’s worth, looks guilty as soon as she takes his hand. “You have to take care of yourself!”

“I do!” Carisi protests. His sister and brother-in-law provide a negative reaction of scoffs and unimpressed gazes that Rafael, he realizes in slight disappointment, does not have to give. “Usually.”

“I can’t believe you.” Bella runs a hand through her hair with a huff. “You’re older than me, and I feel like the older sister when I have to deal with this sort of shit.”

Carisi’s expression contorts into bewilderment and mild offense. “How is that on me?”

“Because the last time you fainted, you had gone through one bag of Fritos in thirty-six hours. You can’t make this normal! You can seriously hurt yourself!” With one last glance at his face, eyes downcast and mouth turned down in a harsh frown, she taps Tommy’s shoulder. “I’m gonna get some air. You want something from the cafeteria?”

“I’m fine,” Carisi states, distant in his voice and clear in his dismissal.

Rafael waits until Bella and Tommy—the former with a roll of her eyes and a tug on her husband’s arm—leave to sit in the chair beside the bed. Carisi watches him but doesn’t say anything, just shifts and curls his legs. The discomfort in his attempt to get comfortable can either be proof of his minor injury or the words he shared with his sister. Rafael can’t get a read on him.

“Why are you here?” Carisi asks. His voice is low and filled with pure exhaustion; his head sags more than rests on the cushion propped up behind him. “And I know it’s hard for you to not be snippy, but I’d appreciate a real answer.”

“I ran into your sister when I was coming out of the courthouse,” Rafael admits. Even without the request, he would have been honest. “I was the prosecutor on her husband’s case a few years ago. She told me what happened on your date.”

Carisi rolls his eyes with a prolonged sigh and turns onto his side, his back to Rafael. “Dammit. What’d she say?”

“Well, she wasn’t impressed with your date, I got that much.” He steals a glimpse of Carisi shutting his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “And she’s definitely concerned about you.”

“So nothing I didn’t know before. Great.”

“When you pass out from not eating or drinking, maybe she has a right to be.”

Carisi shoots him a weak glower. “You were the one who said this job was gonna make me do this.”

“I think my exact words were it’s going to stop you from being healthy. But I see the point you were trying to make.” He doesn’t remember the details of their argument that led to Rafael shutting them up the only way he could think of, but he knows how much regret filled him when he walked away after that and actually recalled what had been said. “Your priorities aren’t with taking care of yourself. You have other people to watch over.”

Carisi doesn’t say anything, just curls further into himself and pulls his shoulders up. It reminds him of a child, frightened by the weight of the world and the terrifying possibility of adulthood, unwilling to prepare or adjust to change. It’s almost pitiful, the way a man so tall can become so small. Rafael’s chest pangs with sympathy at the sight.

“You know,” Rafael says, crossing his legs, not sure where the surge of confidence comes from but hoping the vulnerability isn’t visible, “the same thing happened to me once. Right in open court.” The first sentence didn’t affect him, but the second pulls Carisi’s eyes over to him. “The defense thought I was using it as a guilt tactic to earn points with the jury until the EMT got some fluids in me and I was lucid enough to stand on my own.”

“When was this?”

“During my early days as a prosecutor, when I was still in Brooklyn. Obviously, I didn’t learn much, since I exist on a strict diet of coffee and scotch, but I picked up my snacking habits because of it. Even if it’s a bag of pretzels or a handful of peanuts, I have something to eat.”

Carisi shifts onto his back again but stays curled in on himself, knees knocking together as he rests his socked feet on the bed. “Are you trying to teach me a lesson?”

“No. I’m only saying you’ll find a way to get used to not taking care of yourself.” Rafael pauses, debating how to word his next point. “You strike me as the type of person who takes care of others before himself. That’s not going to change overnight. But the least I can do is provide some type of advice.”

He expects the look of suspicion that crosses over Carisi’s expression. Rafael already has a response prepared. “Since when do you give out advice for free?”

He smirks. “Since tall giraffes pass out on bad dates.”

Carisi frowns, this time offended. “It was a good date until I passed out.”

“Is that why they didn’t come with you?” When Carisi frowns, fiddling with the sheet under him, Rafael simpers quietly and flashes him a sympathetic smile. “If you’re that upset over it, take it as a good sign. Someone who isn’t going to check on you when you pass out isn’t worth any extra time.”

“It’s not about the person. He was weird anyway.” Rafael waves for him to elaborate, or to at least continue with that train of thought, but Bella and Tommy return, and the topic is abandoned. Carisi greets his sister, asking her about their other siblings and their parents, his gaze pointedly focusing on her.

Thirty minutes later, with one last medical confirmation that he isn’t harmed, Carisi is released from the hospital. Rafael offers to drive them to their respected homes, and since there’s little to no protest any of them (read: Carisi) can give, he gives them a lift. He drops off Bella and Tommy with the promise that he will get their brother home safely, and Bella smiles at him with such trust that Rafael can’t think of a scenario where he doesn’t fulfill her wish. The downside is that the car ride to Carisi’s apartment is limited to the directions provided from the passenger seat in a voice so low and gentle, it’s unnerving.

Rafael doesn’t push for anything more, but he debates at least asking about his well-being. There’s something about Carisi’s silence that makes it feel unnatural. Or artificial, maybe—it’s hard to decipher. It doesn’t feel like it was brought on by exhaustion from a hectic day. And Rafael can’t quite decide if it’s good or bad for him yet. On one hand, it could mean there’s something being left unsaid that’s weighing down between them. But whatever that may entail, he can only hope he's wrong.

When they arrive at the apartment building, tense silence and all, Rafael pulls to the side of the street and simply waits. There’s a look on Carisi’s face that screams of wanting to say something before they part, hands fidgeting in his lap, eyes darting from the buildings touching the sky and the streets beside him. But right when he wonders if he should take the first step, Carisi speaks up.

“Thank you. For visiting and for…driving me home.”

Rafael only nods and offers a faint smile. The words he could say are too intimate for the atmosphere between them and too crass for the situation. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to do much in terms of verbal responses.

“Look, I…” Carisi runs a hand through his hair with a soft groan. “I know we’ve attacked each other. We didn’t get off on the right foot. We fought each other like we were taking on defense attorneys in court.” Rafael chuckles at the comparison; he wasn’t wrong. Carisi, as brief as it is, smiles back. “But you did more than someone who asked me out on a date. And I appreciate that because you didn’t have to do anything.”

“Well,” Rafael gives a half-hearted shrug, “sometimes, we have to put our differences aside and take care of each other. The animosity you see can be a bit too much.” When they fall quiet again, he steals a glance at the younger man and finds him staring at him. Carisi really does have beautiful eyes. It’s a shame he couldn’t notice sooner. “What?”

“Do you believe in alternate universes?”

“Am I supposed to?”

Carisi shrugs. “Just asking. This isn’t gonna be on the test.”

Rafael smirks. “Do you?”

“I guess. I’d like to think that there’s a version of ourselves out there that didn’t hate each other.”

He turns to face him better. It was an interesting conversation topic, for sure. “You think so?”

“I’d like to. If we hadn’t met the way we did.”

Rafael just hums in acknowledgment. He watches Carisi’s hand ghost over his knee, clawing into his pants. There’s a dim flash of something in his eyes, just a bite of desire that calls on three months ago. “Like what? If we had met when you were still a cop?”

Carisi snorts and rolls his eyes. “Please. You’d probably get tired of me real quick. Asking too many questions, bugging you for advice.”

“You say it like you don’t do that already.”

“Hey,” his smile goes unrestrained, but he holds back a laugh, “I’m doing better on the last one.”

Rafael chuckles. “Fair.” He watches the light return, lingering in his eyes and following every inch of his movements—hands, face, eyes, the small rise of his chest. Rafael is aware of every sight seen, every inch of his body flaring from the attention, every flicker of open blue skies. Paired with lips that he knows are so gentle, so tender, so thorough, tinted pink and growing dark the more use that comes from them.

Those same lips connect with his own in a fluid motion. Rafael inhales sharply and holds either side of his face to steady himself in the reel of emotions. His chest pangs, his toes curl, fire bursts from the contact on his mouth and under his hands. He opens his mouth eagerly and leans forward into the ministrations. Carisi tilts his head and sighs, softly molding his lips over his, one hand raising to brush over Rafael’s cheek. The gesture is so small, it barely presses against his cheek, just a tender brush of the top of his fingers.

As quick as their hands slide over each other’s cheeks, the kiss deepens dramatically. Rafael nearly rips off his seatbelt to move closer, his hands raising to Carisi’s hair for stability. Carisi’s hands move in the opposite direction, dropping down to grab hold of his hips. The slight squeeze he applies, pleasant and present, makes Rafael shiver. He barely recognizes the eager moan that falls from his mouth, only to be swallowed whole by Carisi.

Maybe he should start calling him something else if they’re going to end up choking each other on their tongues. He won’t call him “Sonny” unless he’s asked, that much is clear, and “Dominick” sounds too stiff for someone as noodly as him.

Carisi moves back first, his thumbs rubbing soft patterns against his sides. Rafael licks his lips, a quick flicker of his tongue, and he chuckles at the huff that helps heat the air between them. Good to know he’s just as enchanted.

With a clearing of his throat and a shift, Carisi nods over his shoulder. “You wanna head upstairs?” He asks, eyes dropping back to his lips. “Maybe do something a bit more private?”

“Yes,” Rafael says immediately. His hands scramble down to his shoulders and grab the fabric between his hands. “Please, yes. If we don’t make it up there in the next ten minutes, I might take you down right here.”

Carisi makes a sound between a growl and a whine. “Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> -"mamadelle" is one of my favorite Italian slang words to use tbh. It basically describes someone who takes care of ppl through food and is 100% a mom. I think Irish slang for it is a "mammy" but I could be wrong since I am unfortunately American  
> -also yes the next fic will have sex don't you worry friends
> 
> Thanks goes to soul_writerr for beta-ing and checking this to make sure it made sense! I'm so afraid that it'll be too aggressive or too soft and she's been a big help with this <3


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